I’d Like 2 Buckets of Shit, Please
Growing up, there were occasionally bugs in the cupboard. It didn’t happen often, living in Alaska. There aren’t many bugs here since it’s cold and dry most of the time. But I remember once, I picked up a cardboard cereal box with a plastic peep window, only to see a little beetle scurrying around in what I assume was simultaneously a paradise and hell. Out went the box, of course. The ick factor of the experience was enough to get my gag reflex going whenever I eyed the Chex or Reese’s Puffs for the next week. I’ve always had an extreme weakness when it comes to bugs and my appetite, anyway.
But now that all has to change. My new mantra, delivered from God through my son’s sensitive stomach, is:
Must. Love. Bugs.
And. Shit. And. Garbage.
Because food is disgusting. It feeds off of everything we have been told to discard — to practically shun! And now I am faced with digging my hands into the unwanted dregs of our consumerist, buy & waste existence. I will be up to my elbows in worms and shit and bones and dirt. And I rejoice. Because it means I am learning how to feed my son. I am learning how to be less wasteful, more mindful; less concerned with convenience, more concerned with self-sufficiency. It is a beautiful thing.
Since I want to be as sure as possible that there is no corn or corn derivatives growing the food I am feeding my son, I cannot simply buy soils and fertilizers at the store. I have to research what natural, organic things out there provide the right balance of nutrients to feed the vegetables I am attempting to grow. One of the cheapest and best-recommended things is rabbit manure (or “berries” as bunny-enthusiasts call them). I’m not at the point yet where I am ready to take on composting, which is even more highly recommended than just using the berries straight, but it seems like rabbit poop is going to be a great addition to my gardening arsenal this summer. So, where did I get it? I reached out to my local farming facebook page and just asked for it! The next day, I was the proud owner of two 5-gallon buckets of pure, unadulterated shit (from rabbits never fed corn, of course!). You can read more about the benefits and uses of rabbit manure here.
I also took several seaweed squares and crushed them, added water, and am letting them soak for a few days. Tomorrow I will take out the murky, smelly liquid, add it to a spray bottle, and start using it as a fertilizer on my poor little seedlings who got to have me, a first-time seedling momma filled to the brim with anxiety over the possibility of failure, as their caretaker. Since I live near some coasts, I am hoping to actually forage my own seaweed soon. I can use it for this purpose, as well as dehydrate it and give it to my son as a snack!
This afternoon a huge pot of bone broth which contained a goat’s ribcage finished simmering, as well. Now my task tonight is to wash all the leftover remnants off the bones (at times like this I so wish I had some animals to feed them to so I wasn’t being wasteful in any way!), and then set them out to dry in the sun tomorrow. With these smooth, brittle bones, I will attempt to make bonemeal — another great addition to the garden.
I am learning as I go. Sometimes I resent having to do all of this. Running around town instead of spending time with my family, just trying to find the correct size containers to transplant my seedlings into and failing to find them at every store — these moments almost break me. I want to scream “WHY?! Why can’t someone just SHOW ME what to do? Why can’t someone just tell me everything I need to do and then I will DO IT , no matter how much work it is, but this ‘figuring it out’ part is driving me INSANE!”
Sometimes I resent how this knowledge used to be passed down in families — how to garden, not be wasteful, hunt, butcher, preserve, survive. My own grandfather is a master gardener of flowers, for god’s sake. My mother grew up on farms. My grandma lived through the depression. Yet I know nothing. I know getting a job and buying food from a store. And that just isn’t a viable way for my family, my son, to thrive.
My name is Summer. I am a millennial and a mother of a toddler with severe Type 4 food allergies. Thank you, society, for so brutally and efficiently creating this culture of convenience that I have relied on my entire life. Now, FUCK OFF. Let’s start taking what we like, and leaving the rest. It will be hard, but I think we will all be better off for it.
